


Sweet Wonder

by LeafyGreenQueen773



Series: NaNoWriMo 2018 [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Edging, Established Relationship, I'm a Little Bit of a Russophile Okay, Language Kink, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Peter Loses Control of His Powers in Bed, Peter Parker Needs to Let Go, Peter and Tony Go To Russia, Precious Peter Parker, Sugar Daddy, Vacation, tony speaks russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 17:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16748122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafyGreenQueen773/pseuds/LeafyGreenQueen773
Summary: Tony takes his 18-year-old lover, Peter, to St. Petersburg, Russia, for his winter vacation during his freshman year of college.  Sure, Tony is totally a sugar daddy, but it's just because he wants to see Peter be happy - including between the sheets.Excerpt:“I'm going to ravage you tonight, Pete,” Tony murmured as they made their way through the street, on which the crowds were thinning slightly now that the evening had fully set in.  Peter shuddered under his arm.  “I'm going to pour champagne on your body and lick it off, then I'm going to suck your beautiful cock until you come down my throat.”Peter's fast breaths were coming out of his nose, and the condensation was blowing up into the faux fur.  His eyes were half-lidded with desire.  “Don't...don't tease me,” Peter breathed.“I'm not fucking teasing, kid,” Tony said darkly.  His fingers gripped Peter's shoulder harder, and he could hear the bag in Peter's hand clank as he jerked next to Tony.  “I'm going to make you feel so damn good, you won't know what country you're in.”





	Sweet Wonder

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a bit of fun for NaNoWriMo, so I barely even read it through after I wrote it. Yes, I speak Russian, but not fluently. I used to live near St. Petersburg, though, so I was getting nostalgic and decided to write this short story for the heck of it.
> 
> Fluff, smut, and kinks abound.
> 
> Please comment! I love comments so freaking much.

“I don't think I've ever seen you take the subway,” Peter mused. “Or wear fur.”

Tony looked down at the kid, who was sitting compactly on an old plastic bench. They were inside one of the many subway cars running constantly underneath the great city of St. Petersburg, a sort of humming pulse that the locals all lived and breathed by.

“It's _faux_ fur,” Tony answered. He had been catching looks from people all day, and so he'd stopped by a street vendor, paid 2000 rubles for an ushanka-hat, and immediately untied the ear flaps so that he looked almost like any other tourist. Sure, he was wearing a very, _very_ nice overcoat, but that didn't necessarily draw as much attention as one would think. After all, he'd been to St. Petersburg many times, and Tony knew first-hand that Russians liked to dress in their best when they went out on the town.

Now, of course, they were drawing attention, but only because they were speaking English. Or, at least, that was what Tony kept hoping. The fewer people who asked for his autograph, the better. This trip was all about Peter.

Speaking of Peter, the kid was grinning up at him. “I honestly still can't believe we're here.”

“That's the fiftieth time you've said that since we got off that plane at Pulkovo yesterday.”

“Well, I mean it,” Peter said earnestly. “I mean, all you hear about are politics these days, but I'm just psyched to discover the Russia that they talk about in history class, you know? Ballet and those little dolls and the palaces and things.”

Tony held back a snort, and a burly-looking, balding gentleman standing near him raised one eyebrow at them. “This place is a lot more than ballet and palaces, Pete. Your Christmas break is going to be way better than anyone else's.”

The blush that immediately spread across Peter's cheeks was enough to tell Tony that Peter didn't doubt how good the trip was going to be, or how much his college friends were going to be jealous about it later. Especially if the hotel was half as grand as Tony had alluded to.

But that was for later.

“ _Sleduyuschaya ostanovka – Nevskiy Prospekt._ ”

A metallic voice that sounded like it dated back to Soviet times echoed throughout the subway car. Tony nudged Peter's leg with his foot. “Hey, we're the next stop.” Obediently, Peter got to his feet and held onto the metal railing with one hand. He was absolutely steady, despite the way that Russian subways notoriously came to a grinding halt. Either Peter was a true New Yorker, or his superpowers gave him incredible balance. Or both.

Tony took Peter by the shoulder as they squeezed their way out of the crammed car and onto the platform. As soon as they were free, a surge of people made their way onto the train. Tony heard the metallic voice faintly say, “ _Ostorozhno, dvery zakrivaetsa_ ,” before the doors closed, just as the Russian voice had warned.

The high ceiling inside the station made every noise sound fifty times louder, and Tony saw Peter twitch with the overbearing input. He kept his hand on Peter's shoulder to ground him and guide him through the station. They bounded up the stairs, then joined the crowd milling toward the escalators. Tony could almost always pop his ears going between the underground and the street level, but it was something that he secretly loved. And especially this time, he could feel his heart almost palpitating with excitement. It was Peter's first time on Nevsky Prospect, the main street in St. Petersburg.

Tony kept his hand on Peter's shoulder still, almost as though he'd taken the kid under his wing. Peter sidled up next to Tony as bitterly cold air blasted into the entryway – then, suddenly, they were out onto the snowy corner.

“It's kind of like a fairytale, isn't it?” Peter breathed. His voice made a puff of warm moisture in the air, which only hung briefly before it was hurried away by the wind and snowflakes.

Tony gazed up and down the street. It was almost the New Year, which was basically the Russian equivalent of the Christmas holidays, and it was impossible not to feel the buzz in the air. The whole, multi-lane street had decorative lights strung over, and across the Griboyedov Channel, the dome of the old Singer building shone brilliantly blue.

It was already dark outside, despite being early evening, because, as Tony's Russian nanny always said, “In St. Petersburg, they trade White Nights for Black Days.” They were so far north that the sun barely set in summer, but it barely showed up in winter. And it was generally always cloudy.

“So...where t-to?” Peter chattered. Tony looked down at the kid and realized that Peter was already freezing cold. He was dressed relatively warm – a stylish, gray European pea coat over a woolen sweater, and skinny jeans over long johns, tucked into faux fur-lined boots. But while Tony had bought his hat for the sake of anonymity, he could see now that Peter needed one for warmth.

He wasn't buying one off just any street vendor or tourist shop, though.

“Let's go to Gostiniy Dvor and see if we can't dress you up a little,” Tony said cryptically. Peter barely had time to raise his eyebrows questioningly before Tony was steering them to the left, down the slippery stone sidewalk.

They walked for a little over a block, passing by some shops that Peter recognized from New York and some that he had never heard of before. As they passed store signs in Russian, Tony would read them out loud. “That's Yevraziya. They're like a big sushi chain around here. And that one is Chaynaya Lozhka, which means 'tea spoon' and they serve bliny, which are thin pancakes.”

Peter squinted. “Is that one...a Subway?”

Tony chuckled. “Yes, they have Subway here. They call it 'Sabvey'.”

“So weird.”

It was impossible not to grin as they shuffled their way along the sidewalk, trying not to slip on the ice and slush that tended to accumulate on the side of the street. Although it was dark outside, and frigidly cold, hundreds of people were out and about. Whether they were just walking home, or whether they had some shopping or dining or social business to attend to, it was difficult to tell. Most of the women were wearing very nice apparel and full makeup, their arms snaked through the elbow of a guy wearing a relatively Western-looking coat. Tony had no feelings in particular about the way that Russians chose their clothes – he just appreciated it for what it was. A part of the culture that he'd started learning about before he even knew much about American culture.

The only thing that was eating at Tony a little as they walked was that he couldn't hold Peter's hand. He was someone who liked to touch, who liked physical contact. Unfortunately, two men holding hands in Russia was not something that tended to go unnoticed. As such, he continued to leave his hand on Peter's shoulder protectively instead, almost like Peter was his son, not his boyfriend. Certainly Peter was young enough to be his son, as Tony had tried (in vain) to point out several times. Thankfully the age difference didn't matter to Peter. That didn't stop Tony from thinking about it quite frequently.

In front of them, half of the sidewalk split downwards and went below the street. Tony gently nudged Peter towards the hand railing as they nearly skidded down to the underground crosswalk. It was marginally warmer in the tunnel, just due to the lack of wind.

Peter's eyes flitted from one souvenir stall to the next, each of them brimming with trinkets and T-shirts and little matryoshkas – the nesting dolls.

When they came up on the other side of the street, they were standing in front of Gostiniy Dvor.

“After you,” Tony said fondly as he held the heavy door open for Peter.

They walked into what seemed like a relatively normal shopping center, except every store seemed connected, and the prices were definitely reflective of the fact that the location was on the main street in the city.

It didn't matter, of course, how much anything cost. He was Tony Stark, a billionaire. He'd paid 50,000 rubles for the hotel tonight alone, and he was prepared to drop as much money on Peter as he wanted. If Peter even seemed mildly interested in any apparel, he'd gladly snatch it up. Especially because he secretly loved to dress Peter. The faux fur boots and the pea coat certainly hadn't come out of the kid's closet in Queens.

The sales assistant could tell that they were American, despite Tony's decent Russian, and of course he tried to up-sell them. Tony didn't even mind, though. Every time Peter came out of the dressing room, wearing something else that made him look like a young Russian peasant, Tony could feel his blood simmering under his skin. In the end, they left with a cream-colored linen Cossack-style shirt with red embroidery accents, a pair of wool mittens with a Slavic motif knitted into them, and, of course, a faux-fur hat. Instead of getting an ushanka, however, Tony asked the clerk to get them something a little different.

While Peter buttoned up his coat again, Tony placed the Cossack-style women's hat on Peter's head.

The teenager whipped around and looked in the mirror. “Isn't this for girls?”

Tony stared at Peter's pink cheeks, finally warm from being inside, and the way that a cute, embarrassed blush worked its way into the boy's face. He wanted to kiss those thin lips and lick his way down Peter's chest until he could feel Peter trembling under him. For now, however, he simply placed his hands on Peter's shoulders again, as though he were merely a responsible chaperone. “It suits your pretty face,” Tony answered.

More color rose into Peter's cheeks. Tony let Peter compose himself while he took out a wad of rubles in cash and paid for the clothes. The clerk looked smugly pleased with himself for having made so much money on the Americans. Tony merely smiled back and wished the man a good evening.

Their next foray into the cold night didn't quite leave Peter shaking, and that was a positive sign.

“So what kind of things do Russian people eat?” Peter asked curiously as they passed by another bliny shop called Teremok.

Tony gestured to the shop. “Well, those thin pancakes are one popular dish, whether it's breakfast, lunch, or dinner. You can fill them with sweet things like jam or sweetened condensed milk, or you can put meat, fish, sour cream...anything in them really. Even caviar, if you're feeling fancy.”

Peter laughed. “Caviar? Really?”

“Oh, come on, it's good! Haven't you ever had caviar?”

“Oh yeah, all the time,” Peter said sarcastically. “Me, a college student living on the income from chemistry tutoring. I can _definitely_ afford that shit.”

Tony reached up to ruffle the faux fur of Peter's poofy hat. The reddish auburn of the fur resembled a fox, or Peter's brown hair on a sunny day, on the other side of the world from where they were now.

“You're with me now, Peter. So yes, you can afford it.”

Peter's jaw dropped for a moment, then his eyes grew determined, like he was going to say something along the lines of, _I'm independent and I don't need a billionaire genius playboy philanthropist to take care of me_ , despite the fact that he'd just let Tony buy his hundreds of dollars worth of clothes. But all the fight went out of his eyes as they stepped crossed the street and stepped onto the curb of the sidewalk. The shop on the corner was in full view.

The building was very squarish and stately, the sort of brown color of cheap, too-milky hot chocolate. But the accents, in a coppery green, were anything but square. Posing against each other on the corner were two ornate statues, their bodies depicted as strong and yet fluid as they stood, draped in their own medium. High above them, a massive set of windows arched up from the sides of the building towards the middle of the front facade, to showcase the grandeur.

Nothing, however, was more grand, nor more eye-catching, than the front display window. And, just as Tony had hoped, Peter was enraptured by it. Behind the glass, golden curtains hung down in theater-style swoops. In front of the curtain were moving figurines. Little European-style milkmaids, bakers, nutcrackers and princes stood on top of beautiful wooden renditions of cakes and cookies. Tony couldn't help but take his eyes off Peter, whose smooth skin reflected the warm lights of the shop.

His youth shone on his face.

“What is this place?” Peter said in awe.

“It's called the Kupetz Eliseevs. Let's go inside.”

Peter whipped his head to look at Tony. “What? We can go inside?” His nose was pink and his eyes were bright. Tony couldn't wait to spoil him.

“Of course. Come on,” Tony answered impatiently, and put his hand on Peter's shoulder again. He could feel the kid melt a little under his touch, and the knowledge that Peter was so responsive made Tony close his eyes for a split-second as they headed towards the heavy double-doors to enter the shop.

Inside, it was warm, and sparkling, and looked like something magical.

“I'm getting serious Honeydukes vibes,” Peter mumbled as he turned in a big circle, eyes wide as though he were afraid to miss anything. The security guard standing by the door wrinkled his nose at the two of them, so Tony guided Peter deeper into the shop.

In the middle of the Kupetz Eliseevs, there was a giant round replica of a palm tree, with massive fronds reaching down towards a red bench that stretched all the way around the base. The floor was a dark brown stone, polished to perfection, and the bits of walls that weren't cut out for the large windows were covered in dark green, shiny brick. Halfway up the walls, the brick stopped and was replaced by gold molding over mint paint.

Every few feet, there was a little tower of goodies, from tea to candy. Peter made his way quickly over to one of the long glass cases that was displaying champagne.

“Want a bottle?” Tony asked seriously. Peter snapped his attention to Tony, confused.

“You would buy a bottle for us? I'm only eighteen.”

Tony scoffed and raised his hand to get the staff member's attention. “Which means you're perfectly legal in Russia, kid.” The man who was serving them was wearing a long white apron that seemed immaculately clean, although the man had probably already worked a long shift. Tony pointed down to a bottle in the case that was listed at a cool 100,000 rubles. He'd never had the label before, but for something that was worth the equivalent of over $1500, it had to be decent.

The man made to ring Tony up, but Tony shook his head. “ _Po-moyemu, ohn hochet shto-nibud yesho._ ” Eyes lighting up a little, the man nodded and offered them help to find something else they might be looking for.

“ _Ikra_ ,” Tony said quickly. The man grinned and scurried around the whole of the room, while Peter and Tony followed on the opposite side of the counter.

“What else are we buying?” Peter asked, and Tony could hear the concern in his voice.

“Don't worry. Nothing I can't easily afford. _Da, chornaya_.” Tony pointed to a tin that advertised black caviar. Next to them, Peter was staring into a barrel of real, life fish.

The caviar, as it turned out, was an additional 65,000 rubles.

Even if Peter couldn't read or understand the Russian, he could still see the prices.

“Jesus, Tony, how much money are you going to spend on champagne and caviar?”

“What else do you want?”

Peter shook his head vigorously. “That's not what I mean. I'm happy to try champagne and caviar and I don't need anything else. I'm just saying, like, that's a lot of money.”

Tony shrugged. “I'm sure that it's more than some people make in six months. I had a friend who was teaching English over here for 16,500 rubles every two weeks. But kid, if you want to come to Russia and stay in a hostel and eat cheap cabbage pie, you absolutely can. It's just that on this trip, I want to give you everything you deserve.”

The staff member likely couldn't understand them, but he seemed to understand that Tony was talking to Peter plaintively, and deduced that Peter was Tony's son. He gave Tony a sympathetic look, as if to say, _Teenagers are the worst_. Yet, Tony could never be angry with Peter over something so little as pointing how how much money Tony was spending. In fact, it was sometimes nice to remember that other people looked at amounts like $1,500 and thought it was a big number. He was so used to dealing with millions as some of his smaller units of measurement.

Peter pouted at Tony, and Tony couldn't help but think that perhaps the expression solidified the staff member's suspicion that Peter was Tony's son. The knowledge that their relationship was very much _not_ familial sent a little thrill down Tony's spine. He grinned back at Peter's pout and turned toward the case. “Why don't you pick out some marzipan? Something shaped like a fruit maybe, so that when you eat it later, I can imagine the juice running down your chin.”

Color instantly rose into Peter's cheeks, and though they were hidden by the furry hat, Tony knew that Peter's ears were red, too. He nodded at the glass display again. “Go pick one out and hope that I don't say anything more embarrassing. What if someone in here speaks English?”

Peter scowled, though his scowl was like a puppy trying out its first growl. “If they do, you're going to get us kicked out or arrested for being together.”

Tony folded his arms, ignoring the staff member's attempts to follow what was going on. The man kept watching Peter, trying to divine what the boy was going to want to pick out next. This was probably going to be his biggest sale all day.

“Just don't say the G word or the H word. They're cognates in Russian.”

Peter furrowed his brow. “You mean,” he said, then lowered his voice down to a barely-audible level and mouthed the word: “ _gay?_ ”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yes, that. And the H word. Don't say them, because people will actually understand you. So don't be a dumb-ass.” He stood aside to free up the path to the marzipan case and looked at Peter expectantly. “Well? Go pick something out.”

Peter straightened the hat on his head and continued with his pouting. “Yes, _daddy_.”

Jesus. Heat shot directly to Tony's groin.

They spent another ten or so minutes in the shop, Peter suddenly interested in picking out a large number of expensive marzipan pieces and gourmet desserts. When Tony dropped 800 rubles on two chocolate-dipped marshmallows, he couldn't help but smile to himself. Peter was just trying to get him back, and he didn't mind. In fact, it was a little bit sexy to watch the kid concentrate into the case with those cute eyes focused, point one of his pale fingers at something, and nod at the staff member when the man quickly fished out whatever the choice had been from the case. Tony's whole body felt a little molten inside, like Peter was a flame burning in his core.

“Don't forget to buy some expensive tea,” Tony said, mouth dry.

Peter pursed his lips. “I'm American, Tony. Tea is not my cup.”

“Coffee? I'm sure they have it.”

Those soft brown eyes were looking up at Tony from under long eyelashes. “I'm quite looking forward to the champagne, actually.” His gaze turned significant. “Very, _very_ much.”

Peter didn't have to say anything more. Tony told the staff member, who was by now looking as though the New Year holiday had come early, that they were going to wrap up their order. The man beamed and gathered up the expensive champagne, the tin of caviar, the multiple pieces of expensive marzipan, and the other expensive desserts Peter had picked out. He carefully wrapped everything with bright paper and laid everything into a glistening shopping bag. Tony couldn't help but tap his toe impatiently on the floor – not that the man wasn't working quickly enough. It was just that a certain appetite of his had suddenly skyrocketed.

They stepped out onto the street together, Tony's hand on Peter's shoulder again, holding him even closer under his arm. It would be easy to pass off the protective stance as an attempt to keep Peter from slipping on the slick streets, which were now coated in at least an inch and a half of snow. But the reality was that Tony simply wanted to touch Peter. Wanted to feel the warm skin under the pea coat. Wanted to fuck Peter with that ridiculous faux fur hat on. Clutching him to his side was the closest he could get to the teenager; he could still feel Peter's shoulders working under the fabric. He was definitely no longer shaking with cold. On the contrary, he could almost feel the heat coming off the kid, equal to the heat churning in Tony's body.

“I'm going to ravage you tonight, Pete,” Tony murmured as they made their way through the street, on which the crowds were thinning slightly now that the evening had fully set in. Peter shuddered under his arm. “I'm going to pour champagne on your body and lick it off, then I'm going to suck your beautiful cock until you come down my throat.”

Peter's fast breaths were coming out of his nose, and the condensation was blowing up into the faux fur. His eyes were half-lidded with desire. “Don't...don't tease me,” Peter breathed.

“I'm not fucking teasing, kid,” Tony said darkly. His fingers gripped Peter's shoulder harder, and he could hear the bag in Peter's hand clank as he jerked next to Tony. “I'm going to make you feel so damn good, you won't know _what_ country you're in.”

Peter blinked his eyes slowly, barely shuffling along next to Tony. “Are you going to talk dirty to me in Russian?”

“Kid, I'll learn how to talk dirty in every language if that's what your kink is.”

They finally reached the Nevsky Prospect station again, and Tony steered Peter inside. He fished out 100 rubles from his pocket and got twenty rubles back along with two metro tokens; they strode past the security guard, slipped their tokens in, and rode the elevator down deeper into the earth. It was warmer underground, away from the biting wind. Peter reached up and pulled his hat off his head. Tony controlled his exhale as much as he could, but there was no denying it: the way Peter's hair was messed up from the hat looked like he was fucked out.

“Jesus, kid, what you're doing to me right now,” Tony whispered. Now that they were in an enclosed space, there was no guarantee that people wouldn't hear them, and no guarantee they wouldn't be overheard by someone who actually understood English.

Peter leaned back against Tony very subtly, so that to anyone else it would look like he was still standing up straight. But Tony could feel the way he was relaxed. He wouldn't be surprised if the kid had closed his eyes. The urge to dip his nose into Peter's hair and smell it was exceedingly strong, but Tony denied himself. That would draw attention from the other people getting onto the subway.

The subway ride was far too long, despite it being only a couple stops and a couple transfers. They were still staying in St. Petersburg, though Tony had picked an extremely high-end hotel.

When they checked in, the concierge offered them brochures regarding things to do in the area, looking curious about the two finely-dressed Americans. There was a strong feeling of imperial Russia inside the hotel, and Tony figured it might even be possible that the hotel had survived the war and the siege of Leningrad entirely. When Tony had come to Russia the first time, he'd seen the historical photographs of how much damage St. Petersburg and the surrounding suburbs had taken. And yet, the Russian people were resilient after the war and completely rebuilt monuments that had been destroyed, including whole palaces.

Tony couldn't help but admire the imperial gold styles, the European architecture of the building, and the music playing softly in the lobby, which he recognized as Tchaikovsky. The concierge was digging up information about nearby churches as Tony took in the faux frescoes on the ceiling.

Suddenly, he felt eyes on him, and he looked down at Peter, who was inspecting him with those brown irises. “What?” Tony asked quietly.

Peter shook his head, a small smile on his lips.

“ _Mister Stark, spasibo_ ,” the concierge said in front of them, and Tony turned his attention back to the woman. He pulled a pleasant expression, although he wanted to just be in his hotel room already. It wasn't as though he hadn't been to St. Petersburg a number of times. He was just grabbing brochures for Peter's sake. Perhaps as mementos of the trip.

“ _Pozhalusta_ ,” Tony said distractedly, and held out his hand for the brochures. The woman nodded, handed them to him, and then Tony's eyes were right back on Peter, where they belonged. He barely even looked at his feet while they climbed the master staircase, which was suspended above much of the lobby. It almost seemed like they floated to their room.

As was usual, all of their luggage had been delivered prior to their arrival. It wasn't Tony's style to travel with a bunch of stuff in tow – at least, not with a bunch of stuff on _him_. However, when they unlocked the room (“You got us a _suite?_ ” Peter had gasped), Tony could see that there were at least five suitcases all lined up along the wall, neatly out of the way.

Good. The last thing Tony wanted to do now was unpack.

“Fucking finally,” he growled, closing the door, and turned to Peter.

There was a pile of Peter's clothes on the floor in a matter of thirty seconds.

Tony ripped back the comforter and spread Peter out on the sheets like he'd been wanting to do all day. Goosebumps rose all over the kid's smooth skin as his back hit the cool bed. He closed his eyes instinctively, breathing shallowly, and Tony felt like the world had stopped rotating.

“Do you want me to touch you, Peter?” Tony murmured into the teenager's neck.

“Aren't...aren't you going to take your coat off first?” Peter panted.

Tony's fingers skirted along the sheets, teasing the idea of touching Peter without actually indulging in it. “Hey, hey, hey, let the adult make the decisions here.”

Peter made a face. “I'm an adult too.”

“Let the adultier adult make the decisions. You just stay there and look pretty.”

Tony stood up and took a few steps back, never taking his eyes off Peter's face. The kid had his eyes closed, but his mouth was open slightly, breathing quickly. Perfect. Tony's fingers fumbled down the buttons of his coat, then his shirt and pants, so he could shed them to the floor along with Peter's other clothes. He was hard.

So was Peter. In fact, Peter's youth seemed to mean that the kid could pop an erection wherever he was and whatever he was doing.

When he found the bottle of champagne and carefully popped the cork on it, Tony watched Peter's erection twitch with anticipation. The kid was gorgeous, creamy pale, with his brown hair all stuck up. A tiny trail of light brown hair started at Peter's belly button and made its way down to his cock, where the thicker brown hair curled at the base. Sharp hip bones jutted upward, and although the kid had great muscle tone due to his powers, he was still one hell of a twink.

Tony's own erection felt heavy between his legs as he sauntered up to Peter, tipped the champagne bottle up to his lips, and took a pull, holding the sparkling liquid in his mouth. He bent low over Peter's navel and placed a closed-mouth kiss to the kid's jumping abs. Then he dragged himself up Peter's body and devoured Peter's mouth, letting the champagne rush onto his young lover's surprised tongue.

The way Peter arched up with a gasp made Tony want to abandon all foreplay and get right to the action. But Peter was still a nervous lover. Tony had only taken him apart a handful of times before; they'd only been together since Peter had turned eighteen, after all. Even then, their intimate moments tended to be stolen, between Peter's classes and extracurriculars and where nobody would see Tony Stark making out with a college student. It tended to be, very frequently, in the backseat of Tony's car, with the dark tinted windows keeping them fairly incognito.

Now, they had more space, more time, more everything. Tony couldn't waste it. Even if Peter's recovery time was probably rabbit-fast, Tony was only good for one before he'd need at least a couple hours. He was getting to be middle-aged, after all.

Still, he wanted to make Peter arch up again. Maybe even cry out.

He licked a fat strip of saliva onto his left palm and reached between them to grip Peter's cock in his fist. Instantly, he felt Peter's mouth fall open against his lips, and there was no mistaking that shudder and the absolutely filthy groan that rolled through the boy's chest.

“Does that feel good, Peter?” Tony murmured into the kid's ear. “Do you like me touching you?”

Peter's voice was thick and wet-sounding. “Yes, God, yes.”

The warm, firm flesh in Tony's hand was smooth, slick, and he ran his thumb over the head to spread Peter's precum down his shaft. “I need you to do something for me, kid.” Peter made a noise of acknowledgment in his throat, though it sounded wrecked. “I need you to tell me how close you are to coming, on a scale from one to ten.”

One of Peter's hands reached up and grabbed Tony's shoulder as Tony continued to pump Peter's cock in his hand. “God, Mr. Stark, I'm already...I'm already like a five right now....”

“Mmm, good. Do you feel my hand? You're not my first rodeo, baby, but you're the best, purest thing I've ever touched in my life.” Tony pressed another open-mouthed kiss to Peter's gasping lips, being sure to bite as he pulled away. “Do you feel _me_? Do you feel how much I want you right now? Do you feel how much I want to come in your ass?”

“Oh fuck,” Peter breathed, writhing a little under Tony's body. He could feel Peter's fingertips digging into his shoulder a little too hard – the kid was starting to lose control, and his powers were edging through. Although Peter could easily overpower him, Tony pressed his own hips down against Peter's hipbone, trying to weigh the kid down to the bed so he wouldn't buck up too much. “Mr. Stark, I'm getting...I'm at like an eight now....”

“That fast, baby? You're such a teenager, so quick to feel that build-up, so eager to feel your own cum pulsing out of you....”

Peter let out a warning groan and his fingers tightened in a deliciously painful way on Tony's shoulder. “M-Mr. Stark, I – God, nine, _nine_....”

As much as Tony wanted to chase the kid's desperation right over the edge, he forced himself to pull his hand away from Peter's cock, removing all stimulation as he felt Peter's breath get uneven. He was prepared for the jerk of Peter's hips as the kid tried to chase the stimulation, but with his powers, Peter still managed to nearly dislodge Tony from his place over Peter's body.

“Hey, hey, hey, now, no playing rough with the old man,” Tony growled lightly. Peter shut his eyes tightly, giving Tony a moment to take another pull from the champagne bottle, which he promptly spilled into Peter's mouth again. The kid spluttered a little as Tony bit Peter's swollen lips and trailed nipping kisses down Peter's jawline.

Then, when it seemed that Peter was out of the danger zone, Tony's hand went straight back to his lover's cock.

This time, Tony's dirty talk was in Russian.

One of the most beautiful things about Russian was that it seemed to have its own language of endearment and its own language of curses. Tony had grown up hearing both from his nanny and had quickly learned them for himself when he'd started studying the language on his own, and had particularly grown into the curse words when he'd started acquainting himself with Russia's oligarchs, who tended to rival him in terms of wealth. Now, on top of Peter, he combined the two, peppering the teenager with nicknames and describing what he was going to do to him, in great detail that Peter would never understand.

Still, Tony could understand a foreign language fetish, and he was only vaguely surprised when Peter choked out, “Mr. Stark, _eight_ , no, fuck, wait, _nine_...” about thirty seconds into Tony's monologue of sweet nothings.

Once more, Tony let go of Peter, grinning into Peter's mouth at the sweet whine that came out of the boy. For the next several minutes, Tony continued the cycle, edging Peter closer and closer to disaster.

The sixth time that Tony took Peter into his hand, the kid choked on his own desperation.

“ _Please_ ,” Peter gasped. Tony could feel Peter's muscles shaking, could feel them trembling with the effort that it took not to tap into super strength. There was a small puddle of precum across the kid's hard abdomen, which was tight with tension and need. Tony could feel the heat coming off Peter, and he could feel just how swollen Peter was, too. God, it was beautiful to feel Peter coming apart in his arms.

Tony brushed his lips against Peter's ears. “Do you want to come?”

Peter's cock throbbed in Tony's hand, and Peter pressed his head back into the mattress. His Adam's apple stuck out from his throat, the taut skin stretched over it, smooth and pale. “Yes, please, Mr. Stark...”

“Are you getting close again?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Peter hissed. His eyes were closed tightly, eyebrows knitted together with frustrating pleasure. “Seven,” he specified quickly.

Tony propped the champagne bottle, which had still been in his hand, between two pillows on the bed. Then he brought his hand to Peter's bicep and squeezed. The muscles in the kid's arms spasmed. “I can feel your powers, Peter, just under the surface. Are you struggling to control them?”

“I – ” Peter started, swallowed, licked his lips, and continued, voice wrecked. “I used to lose control whenever I orgasmed, back when I was fifteen, getting off by myself. That hasn't happened in at least two y-years.”

Tony pressed his thumb into Peter's muscle firmly, and matched it with three hard strokes down Peter's length. Peter groaned brokenly. “That's not what I asked, baby. I asked if you're struggling to control them _now_.” Another three hard strokes, and Tony's thumb was grinding into Peter's bicep, which was trembling.

“Yes... _yes_...fuck, I'm at an eight....”

“Peter, I want you to lose control, okay? I want to you let go.” Tony dug his thumb even more sharply into Peter's arm, and he felt the muscle spasm again. He felt Peter's hips rolling under his as the kid shook his head vigorously.

“No, Mr. Stark, I c-could...I could hurt you.”

Tony bent forward and bit down on Peter's lip again. This time, Peter's whole body jerked with the sensation, and Tony took the opportunity to drive home several more, firm strokes to Peter's cock. “You're not going to hurt me, Peter. I want to see you lose it. I want to feel you.”

Peter was thrashing now, and Tony was barely hanging on for dear life, all of his body weight dedicated to holding Peter to the bed. He furiously stripped Peter's cock and caught Peter's lips into his mouth as the kid gasped under him, “ _Nine_...”

This time, Tony didn't stop. “Let go. Come on, Peter, lose control.”

Peter's throat vibrated under him with the force of the shout that burst out of the kid's chest. And suddenly, the bicep under Tony's thumb was rock-hard. Peter's whole body went rigid tight as he passed the point of no return.

The last thing Tony expected was for Peter to suddenly surge forward, nimbly wrap his legs around Tony, and flip the two of them so that Peter was on top. Peter crushed Tony against the mattress, pressing his hips down hard again and again as Tony felt hot fluid pulse onto his stomach. Next to his right ear, Tony could hear the sound of fabric ripping.

And fuck, Tony hadn't even realized that his own orgasm had been right there, waiting for him, until he'd felt Peter's abs against his own cock, slick with cum. He stared at Peter's closed eyelids and came with a jerk of his own hips that nowhere neared the force with which Peter was rutting against him.

After five or six waves of his orgasm, Peter's thrusts lightened into small rolls, and then into little shivering pulses. Aftershocks of his orgasm, still shaking through his lithe body.

Peter's arms, which had just been propping him up over Tony, suddenly seemed tired. He dropped himself to one elbow and searched Tony's face. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Tony grinned. “Oh, kid, I'm _so_ good right now.”

Whether Peter was tired from a long day, or simply from being edged for far longer than his innocence was used to, Tony could see drowsiness creeping into the kid's features. Peter blinked at him slowly, then dropped his head to plant kisses along Tony's shoulder. When he came up a moment later, a question was furrowed in his eyebrows. “What's on your mind, kid?”

Peter swallowed. “Why did you want me to lose control? Did you...did you find it sexy?”

Tony breathed a laugh through his nose. “First of all, Peter, you're always sexy. But one thing I've noticed about you is that you're always so tightly wound, always trying to keep a leash on everything. Your schoolwork, being a hero...I've even seen you trying to keep your little noises in when I make you come.”

Peter wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, but that's because sometimes you've had a driver in the front.”

“I don't care what the reason is – you're holding back. What I want is to help you realize that you don't have to. I love taking care of you, Peter, and letting you just relax once in a while. I like buying you clothes. I like buying you food and champagne. I didn't want to see you come while knowing that you were still chaining up a part of yourself.”

Nimble fingers trailed down Tony's chest. “I was so afraid I was going to hurt you.”

“You didn't.”

“I...I came so hard, though.”

“That won't be the last time.”

Peter's eyelids were heavy with drowsiness, and he grinned and dropped his forehead to Tony's chest so that Tony got a face-full of fluffy brown hair. A moment later, Peter raised his head again, looking as though he could fall asleep right there.

“By the way, the champagne was really good.”

“I'm glad.”

“Too bad when you told me to lose control, I sort of knocked it off the bed. And across the room.”

Tony followed Peter's amused gaze to where the $1,500 bottle of champagne was spilled all across the floor of the expensive carpet. He looked back at Peter, who bit his lip.

“You know what? It was worth it.”

“Really?”

“ _Vsegda,”_ Tony responded in Russian, and even though he knew Peter didn't know what it meant, his lover still smiled, closed his eyes, and laid his head on Tony's chest.

 


End file.
